Reflected By A Twisted Medium
by tFantasyFan
Summary: It felt like it had been so long: long enough for the blood to pool. Long enough for the pool to stop spreading. Not as long as the eternity he seemed to have aged. The world had ended, and he held it in his arms.


_You know, it's really frustrating, getting hit with this stuff at three in the morning when I have two other fics to be working on. But such is life ^-^. So I present to you my very first drabble (the definition being less than 1,000 words, correct?), pulled from the dredges of my mind and written over the course of the 1-3 A.M. period. And please do pardon my lack of a decent title. I am perhaps the worst title-giver known to man._

_Disclaimer: I do not own a Ninja Turtle, even if there's one named Myrtle. (Because Myrtle would be from the land of Dr. Seuss.)_

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The entire world was contained in the puddle of liquid before him. He was certain of the fact because everything else had frozen around him and he could not move from where he was, could not force his knees to bend and carry his weight upwards. He could not speak, he could not think, and he could not breathe. And even if he were to discover that he could do those things- could rise and speak and function and _live_- he still wouldn't do them because to walk away would be to leave the world behind.

If he were to walk away, if he removed his eyes from the thick, reflective substance lying before him in a luminous pool, he would set an entirely different series of events into motion with nothing at his disposal with which to stop them.

Leonardo wasn't ready for things to begin moving again.

So he continued to observe the world through a gleaming, distorted medium, silently begging that he could be allowed to lift up one hand and drive the heel of his palm into his eyes and undo what he was seeing. Maybe then the entire scene would crack down the middle in a twisted parody of a mirror before bursting into millions of crystalline shards, able to be swept up and disposed of and replaced with something less- or maybe with something more. Something, anything, as long as it was better.

As it was, his hands remained firmly rooted to the ground beside him, refusing to so much as twitch as logic weighted them down. He could not rub this out. It could not be undone or reset or replaced with something better. It was too late for that. He was too late.

The world he was observing was disturbed by something, wracked by a series of small ripples that destroyed the clarity of his perception, and he was only vaguely aware that it might be connected to the unreal heated moisture invading his eyes. Tears, then. Had they been falling all this time? Hot and salty and bitter to the very core, causing disturbances as they hit the reflections below, sending back small wafting waves of a once-unmistakable scent that was now settled and stale and cold. He wondered when exactly it had started to cool, and how long he had been there watching it.

The crescent-shaped sliver of moonlight seemed to highlight the temperature, catching on the very edge of the puddle like a wink of silver ice. It felt like it had been so long: long enough for the blood to pool. Long enough for the pool to stop spreading. Not as long as the eternity he seemed to have aged. For the moment, he felt little concern towards the concept of time. There had been a time before, and there would be a time after, but everything seemed to have frozen in the context of the 'now.'

Another warm droplet fell, sending the moon wrinkling out of existence for a few moments, and he marveled. Amazing how something so thick, so dark, could reflect so clearly. Amazing how things that seemed capable of holding so little could hold so much. He wished he'd never had to find out. There was noise in the distance, low and rumbling and unexpected, and his gaze clawed itself away from what had been the most capturing thing as though his eyes were moving through molasses.

And there was the thing that was most important, that was still where it had been when he found it an eternity ago and where it would remain until he could unlock his joints and find the strength to stand. Amber eyes stared up at him from a red bandanna, abandoned, soulless, blank. It occurred to him that he'd never seen his brother empty before, had never seen him devoid of rage and passion and disgruntled amusement, and he had never planned to have to. If any of them were supposed to be the first to go then by all rights, it was his responsibility as the eldest, as the leader.

He wasn't supposed to see this limp and awkward mannequin masquerading as his brother; he wasn't supposed to arrive too late to help him. His eyes roved over the once-familiar face, now made up of new lines born of final rest, frozen in a mask that betrayed nothing apart from the almost-acceptance that accompanied their every dangerous feat. Even in death, he couldn't bring himself to admit to fear, or to pain, or to sadness. Even dying, he hadn't been willing to close his eyes near his enemies.

He had been alone. He had been surrounded. He hadn't been ready, and it shouldn't have been his time. Yet somehow here he was, sprawled across the concrete and devoid of life, surrounded by a pool of thick, sticky liquid that had somehow all originated from him and spread to form the entirety of the world. This wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to get a chance to live past seventeen. They were supposed to get a chance to say goodbye.

"It's not fair."

The words left his mouth with a scraping, like metal against rough stone, his voice harsh and clogged as he broke through his standstill and cradled his brother to him.

"It's not fair," he whispered again, eyes traveling upwards in a last silent appeal. The statement spun off into the dark, delicately losing itself amongst the wind and thunder, leaving Leonardo clutching a lifeless shell to his plastron: alone, abandoned, desolate.

Time had stopped because he had lost his brother.

The world had ended, and he held it in his arms.

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_What did you think? I know that the idea's probably a little overdone. But if this hadn't left my head, I would have died. No lie. Is it OOC? Overdramatic? I am most appreciative of any comments or criticism you may have to throw to me. Now, I have to return to work on my other one-shot (which is not a drabble). Thanks for reading!_


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